


How Long Have I Been In This Storm?

by EmynIthilien



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: First Meetings, Gen, Robert's Rebellion, Storm's End Seige
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 19:49:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/765312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmynIthilien/pseuds/EmynIthilien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>What is this feeling that plagues us, this fear that is destroying men and making them loath to face another day?  I know its name, aye, have known it for a very long time: hopelessness.</i>  Another hopeless day during the Storm’s End siege, until the evening where Stannis first meets Davos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Long Have I Been In This Storm?

**Author's Note:**

> This story was written for the sixth round of [got_exchange](http://got-exchange.livejournal.com/) on Livejournal, in response to the following prompt:
> 
> Siege at Storm's End: Stannis holds Storm's End against the Tyrells and the Redwynes. He thinks the end is coming before Davos, a smuggler, comes to save him. Also, show the dynamics between Stannis and Robert and possibly Renly.

_How long have I been in this storm?_  
 _So overwhelmed by the ocean’s shapeless form_  
 _Water’s getting harder to tread_  
 _With these waves crashing over my head_

_I know you didn’t bring me out here to drown_  
 _So why am I ten feet under and upside down?_  
 _Barely surviving has become my purpose_  
 _‘Cause I’m so used to living underneath the surface_

From the song “Storm,” by Lifehouse

 

Lightning struck the sea, far out into the distance. From the great lord’s balcony of Storm’s End, Stannis counted the seconds before the thunderclap, wondering if the brewing storm would make landfall that evening. He hoped it would. Perhaps one of Lord Redwyne’s ships would be scuttled on the rocks of Shipbreaker Bay, or maybe Lord Tyrell’s lavish tent would be blown away with the lord inside. No matter how ferocious the storm, Stannis and his men would be safe inside the castle, of course, though after a year of being besieged they were far from sound.

_What is this feeling that plagues us, this fear that is destroying men and making them loath to face another day? I know its name, aye, have known it for a very long time: hopelessness._

Hopelessness…A few days past, Storm’s End’s master-at-arms, Ser Gawen Wylde, had snuck out of the castle with three other knights in the hopes of surrendering the castle to Lord Tyrell. Luckily, Stannis had caught them before they could get very far. He had _planned_ to punish the traitors by flinging them from the castle walls with catapults, but Maester Cressen all but ordered him not to. Was it because the kind maester thought the punishment was too harsh or too unjust? Or perhaps that he felt Stannis was overstepping his bounds as acting lord of Storm’s End? No, it was because the food stores in the castle were so low that the garrison might have to resort to eating the dead, and good meat shouldn’t be catapulted away. Stannis had felt like vomiting when he heard that. Naturally, the reason why the traitors had been spared spread through Storm’s End like wildfire, and Stannis was met with faces even more bleak and horror-stricken than he usually was.

Stannis wondered how much longer the siege would go on, how much longer _he_ could take it before he too succumbed to the insanity that had already claimed many of his men—insanity brought on from hunger, abandonment, and sheer desperation. He knew that he was starting to crack when he began to pray. Stannis didn’t believe, of course, in the Seven, or grasp what Northmen like Ned Stark found in their godswoods. But nevertheless, he prayed to whoever or whatever happened to be listening, for things such as Robert marching back home alive, Renly waking up not crying of hunger…Stannis even prayed to see his parents come sailing back on the _Windproud_ , his mother greeting him with her arms wide open and his father full of praise about the man he was becoming.

_It can’t hurt for me to wish for things that can never be. That doesn’t change the fact that I still want them._

Stannis sighed, continuing to watch the sea in the early morning. The winds were stirring, causing the wine-colored sails of the Redwyne ships to flutter out in Shipbreaker Bay.

Robert had forsaken Storm’s End. That’s what everyone in the garrison seemed to be saying. Or else he was so consumed by his quest to destroy the Targaryens and rescue Lyanna Stark that the plight of his starving brothers was far from the forefront of his mind. If not Robert himself, Stannis had hoped that some of Robert’s allies from the Riverlands, the Vale, or even the frozen North would bring some relief to the besieged castle in the form of food, news, or both. Alas, that was not to be. At Maester Cressen’s behest (or folly, as Stannis called it), Stannis had even sent out two small parties of men to surreptitiously travel to King’s Landing and Oldtown in order to spread word that any form of relief to Storm’s End would be richly rewarded by the Baratheons. Alas again, no help came.

Stannis thought back to the conversation he had with Robert when he returned from the Vale and was preparing to call his banners. It had been more of an argument, truly.

 _“You have the gall to_ question _why I’m rebelling against mad King Aerys? What in seven hells is wrong with you Stannis? The man has called for my_ head. _What do you expect me to do, ride to the Red Keep and meekly submit because in theory I have a duty to my king?”_

_“I never said that, Robert.”_

_“Lord Rickard Stark did just that, and do you know what happened to him?”_

Yes, you’ve roared about Lord Stark’s fate half a hundred times since you came back to Storm’s End. _Stannis kept quiet, however, letting Robert continue._

 _“He was burned alive, along with his heir, for the crime of asking why Prince Rhaegar had kidnapped Lady Lyanna Stark. Who is_ my _betrothed, not that prancing purple-eyed prince’s queen of love and beauty!”_

_“Then let the Starks, the Arryns, and all the other houses who lost their lords and heirs when Brandon Stark made his rash ride down to King’s Landing rise up! The Stormlands have nothing to do with this mess!” Stannis shot back._

_“I’ve told you, King Aerys wants my_ head, _along with Ned Stark’s, Jon Arryn’s, and who knows who else’s. The Lord Paramount of the Stormlands has every right to call his banners under provocation such as that.” Robert sighed._

_“What would be your preference, brother, to see my head on a spike just so your naive ideas about how a lord should always be loyal to his king no matter what aren’t shattered? Or would you rather see me defend our family and defend our lands from a madman who thinks nothing of executing lords and their heirs without a trial? Me, Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, and our bannermen, we’ll prove that the lords of Westeros won’t stand to be ruled by the insane Targaryens any longer. And I will get Lyanna back, I promise you that.”_

_“And what then, Robert? If you defeat King Aerys and Prince Rhaegar and rescue Lady Lyanna, what will you do then? Come back to Storm’s End and live out the rest of your days? This isn’t a simple rebellion; you’re challenging the right to sit the Iron Throne. Who will you have sit it, if not a Targaryen?”_

_When Robert didn’t immediately shout back, Stannis simply stared at Robert for a time. If he had to admit it to himself, he was scared of Robert in that moment, more scared than he ever dreamed he would be of his older brother. There was a manic gleam in Robert’s eyes that Stannis had never seen before, and suddenly the realization hit him._

_“You’re not thinking of crowing_ yourself _king?”_

_“If that’s what it takes to set things right again,” replied Robert is a resolute voice. After some more time spent staring at each other, he seemed to sense Stannis’ unease._

_“Do you think I don’t know what I’m getting myself into, what I’m risking?”_

_Stannis remained silent._

_“You think I’m a hotheaded fool, don’t you brother?”_

_“No,” Stannis finally responded._

_Robert snorted._

_“You just need to think things through before you act.”_

_“I_ have _thought this one through, albeit with Jon Arryn and Ned Stark’s help, or else I might have ridden down to King’s Landing like Brandon Stark and lost my life alongside him. I know that if I lose it will mean my life and likely the destruction of our house, but if I sit back and do nothing, who’s to say that King Aerys might not call for Renly’s head as well? Or_ yours _?”_

 _Robert’s voice had changed, Stannis noted. It almost sounded like Robert was pleading with him, pleading with him to understand his point of view._ No, it can’t be that. Robert doesn’t plead.

 _“Ned Stark’s already lost half his family, and I swear to the seven gods that my remaining family will not share the same fate. I will not sit idly by and watch everything I hold dear come crashing down around me, like watching the_ Windproud _break up in Shipbreaker Bay. Do you remember that?”_

 _Of course he did. Stannis would never forget that sight until his dying day, and he knew that Robert wouldn’t either._ That memory’s one of the few things we’ll ever have in common.

_“Storm’s End is yours, Stannis. Don’t let the castle fall, and do whatever it takes to keep Renly and yourself safe.”_

_“I’ll do whatever you ask of me, Robert. But not because you’re the Lord of Storm’s End, or because I wholeheartedly believe in your rebellion.”_

_“Oh? Why then? Are you going to lecture me on duty again?”_

No. You were never one for lectures, Robert. _“Because you’re my brother. I’m…I…”_ What do I want to say, that I love him? I do, I know that, but would he believe me if I said those words? This might be the last time I ever see him again. _Stannis took a deep breath. “I’ll always be loyal to you, always.”_

_Robert clapped him on his shoulders. “I’m counting on that.”_

Shortly after, Robert was gone, with the strength of the Stormlands behind him. Things weren’t so bad then, for Robert quickly defeated Lords Grandison, Cafferen, and Fell at Summerhall and victoriously returned to Storm’s End for a moon’s turn. When he left for a second time, though, he was gone for good, joining up with his allies in the Riverlands. Soon enough, Mace Tyrell and his army swooped in on Storm’s End and stayed there, like a cat watching a mouse hole with greedy eyes.

~

That afternoon, Renly caught up with Stannis as he was making his daily rounds of the castle.

“Stannis!”

“Hello, Renly. What have you been doing today?”

“Having lessons with Maester Cressen. They never seem to end, but he tells me that I have to keep learning my letters.”

“Maester Cressen is very wise.”

“But why do I have to? I’ve never seen Robert read a book, and most of the people here don’t know how to read or write.”

Stannis sighed. That was one of Renly’s biggest complaints, and Robert had acted much the same when he was six. Stannis remembered telling Robert how much he loved Maester Cressen’s lessons simply to spite him.

“It is the duty of every highborn son to be able to read and write, for one day you might be ruling a castle of your own, and those skills will be necessary.”

When Renly didn’t respond, Stannis continued. “Don’t you want to be able to write a letter to Robert? Or be able to read one that he sends you?”

Renly looked downcast and stared at the ground while biting his lip. “But I won’t have to do that when Robert comes back, for I can just talk to him, right? Like he promised us?”

“Yes, he did promise that he would come back.” _But he might not be able to keep that promise._

“Will there be another tourney today? I had fun watching the last one, and Maester Cressen even let me look out of his telescope to see the bright colors of all the knights fighting in the melee!”

Stannis groaned. It was times like these when he wondered how much little Renly really understood about their situation. Yes, he knew that there wasn’t much food and that Robert was off fighting for the safe return of his lady love like the knights in the songs. He knew that enemies were surrounding Storm’s End on both land and sea, meaning that he couldn’t leave the castle. But Renly didn’t really grasp _why_ all these things were happening in the first place, and no matter how many times Stannis tried to explain the politics behind the war or why a lord would besiege a castle, Renly thought that everything would go back to normal soon enough.

_What I would give to be that young and naïve again, with a big brother to protect me. Life would be so much simpler._

“Will there be another tourney today, Stannis?” persisted Renly.

“No,” said Stannis harshly, “And if there ever is one again, you shouldn’t take so much pleasure in watching it. Lord Tyrell is our _enemy_ , and he’s not hosting tourneys for our enjoyment. He’s hosting them to taunt us, to show us that his men can feast and indulge in any number of useless frivolities while you and I starve inside Storm’s End.”

“But he sent us peaches once, does that still mean that he wants us to starve?”

Stannis closed his eyes, willing Renly to stop trying his patience.

“Of course he does. Those peaches were sent to taunt us as well, to show us the food that he would feast us with if only I surrendered the castle. But if I surrendered, Lord Tyrell or mad King Aerys might decide to kill every man in Storm’s End, including you and me.”

“And that would break Robert’s heart, even more than if he can’t get Lady Lyanna back. Because we’re his brothers.”

“Yes, because we’re his brothers and he loves us very much.”

That’s what Stannis kept telling Renly every day since Robert had left for good. It wasn’t a lie, exactly, but Stannis wondered how much truth there was in the statement. _Does he really love us more than Lyanna Stark? Or Ned Stark, even? I wish I knew the answer to that, I wish I did._

“I still wish we could be sent more peaches, though,” said Renly.

Stannis ground his teeth, thinking back to when those infernal peaches arrived at the gates one sunny day:

_“Stannis Baratheon!” A party of Tyrell soldiers had appeared in front of the gates to Storm’s End, flying a white flag and pulling a loaded cart. They were lead by a knight wearing armor with intricately wrought golden roses._

_Stannis, Maester Cressen, and a host of armed men had assembled at the top of the gates. Stannis wondered what the fat flower of Highgarden had to say this time._

_“Who has Lord Tyrell sent to parley today? Since he obviously can’t be troubled to speak with me himself,” Stannis called back._

_“I am Ser Luthor Tyrell, Lord Mace’s cousin. Lord Tyrell promises to feast all of your men for a week if you surrender the castle, and Lord Redwyne gives his word that he will provide more casks of Arbor gold than your men can ever hope to drink. The food and drink provided here on this cart is just a sample of the bounty you are to expect.”_

_“I’m sure it is,” spat Stannis. “You can turn the cart right back around and tell your lords that Storm’s End won’t surrender, not for all of the food and wine in the Reach.”_

_“I believe you misunderstand me, Lord Stannis,” said Ser Luthor. “The casks of wine and bushels of peaches I have here are gifts, no concessions required.”_

_Stannis was about to send the man away again, when Maester Cressen put his hand on Stannis’ shoulder and whispered something into his ear. Considering the maester’s words, Stannis nodded and told him to do what was necessary._

_“Hold on, Ser. If you truly have gifts for us, surely you wouldn’t mind sampling the wine casks yourself? A couple of my men will be out shortly with goblets.”_

_The knight shrugged and dismounted from his horse, making his way to the casks where Baratheon men were soon filling a series of goblets with shaking hands. Stannis closely watched him for any sign of hesitation, any pause before he brought a goblet to his lips._

_“Now do the same with the peaches you have,” ordered Stannis, peering over the gate with narrowed eyes. “I want each of your men to take a bite out of one.”_

_“As my lord commands,” said the knight with a laugh as a Baratheon guard reached deep into a bag of peaches._

_As Ser Luthor chewed a morsel of peach in his mouth, he added conversationally, “You and your younger brother are of much more use alive than dead, you know. Lord Tyrell and Lord Redwyne have no wish to poison you. That would only rouse Lord Robert’s fury, if Prince Rhaegar hasn’t killed him yet.”_

_“I admire you for the faith you have in your lords, Ser,” Stannis responded, giving the knight a cold stare. “It is with great regret that I fail to share the same confidence.”_

_The cart was allowed to be wheeled into the castle, and the peaches would be distributed during the evening meal. Maester Cressen gave orders for all of the Arbor gold to be stored in the deepest part of the cellars, however. The garrison already had enough hungry men; it didn’t need hungry, drunk men._

_Stannis, as always, retreated to the lord’s balcony to think and to stare at the sea, this time with a peach in hand. He stared at the peach for a long time. It was a sickly, yellow color with splotches of red, and its skin felt rough beneath his fingertips. He was tempted to throw it at the wall and watch the skin break, see the juice run out of it like blood from a wound._ No, this peach is just a peach, no matter how much I want it to be Mace Tyrell’s head. And I can’t waste good food.

_Sighing, he unsheathed his dagger and sliced the peach into half a hundred different pieces, even cracking open the pit to get at the bitter seed inside. He watched the waves crash against the rocks below him as he ate, thinking of all the roses that could drown with the force of each one._

~

Stannis was standing on the lord’s balcony again, staring out to the sea in silence. He didn’t know what he was looking for, for there was literally nothing _to_ see that night. The moon was new, and dark storm clouds were obscuring the stars. The storm he had watched brewing in the morning hadn’t made landfall after all, much to his disappointment. _Storms are the only weapon I have here, and even then I rarely have them at my disposal._

He was broken out of his musings by someone incessantly calling for him. With great reluctance, Stannis turned around and went back inside the lord’s solar, wondering what matter was deemed important enough to disturb him at this hour. Perhaps Renly was having another nightmare and wanted his brother to tell him a story until he fell back asleep. Three guards awaited him, and all three were out of breath and looked as if they had just seen—and run from—a ghost. One of the guards was clutching a damp bundle of rags tightly to his chest, as if it was something as precious as a newborn son.

 _Robert or Renly. Something’s happened to one of my brothers_ , thought Stannis, his mind immediately latching on to the most dreadful thing that could possibly befall him.

“What is it?” asked Stannis, his voice calm and level. “Has something happened to Renly? Or has there been news of Robert?”

“No my lord,” said one, vehemently shaking his head. “Little Lord Baratheon is sleeping soundly as far as we know, and no more news has come from Lord Baratheon out in the field.”

“Then Storm’s End must be under attack.”

“No my lord. No one is trying to attack the castle. We think.”

“You _think_? What kind of answer is that, the castle is either being attacked or…”

All three men began to speak at once, each trying to make his voice louder than the others.

“There’s a ship…”

“A _ship_!”

“A _black_ ship down below trying…”

“One at a time,” said Stannis sharply in a stern voice, glaring at the guards who promptly fell silent.

“Our apologies, my lord,” said the guard who Stannis recognized as young Ser Donnell Swann. “There’s a ship trying to dock, a black ship flying black sails devoid of any sigil—but it’s blocked by the portcullis. The captain seeks an audience with the lord of the castle, for he claims that he has come with food to resupply the garrison.”

Stannis stared at him, his eyes widening in surprise. He had been prepared to hear about the castle being stormed, Robert meeting some horrific death, or something along those lines. But a ship full of food? _Never._ Stannis opened and closed his mouth, and he imagined that the expression on his face was just as shocked as the one the guards were still wearing.

“Who is this captain? Did he give his name or say who he serves?” asked Stannis eventually. “This could still be a trap, you know, Lord Tyrell, Lord Redwyne—or even King Aerys himself—trying to bait us with food.”

Ser Donnell shook his head. “I can’t answer any of your questions, my lord, but the captain seems genuine and doesn’t strike me as the type of man who would play anyone false. He also threw this through the bars to us, promising that he has more of the like on his ship.” He gestured to the man holding the bundle of rags to his chest, who promptly set the bundle down on Stannis’ desk and untied it with shaking hands.

Stannis’ eyes were fixed on the guard, who seemed to take an eternity to undo the thing. Finally, there was a flash of white as an onion as big as his fist tumbled to the floor. It was soon followed by a number of other onions, and the guard cursed himself for his clumsiness.

Silence followed, and it continued long after the last onion had stopped rolling. All the eyes in the room were fixed upon the onions.

_Meeting this ship could be my undoing. It could be filled with soldiers waiting to take the castle and slaughter every starving man and woman inside. Or the ship could be the salvation that many have prayed for, day after day, night after night, storm after storm. So which is it to be, then, slaughter or salvation? Starvation is the only thing Storm’s End is guaranteed if I sit back and do nothing._

“Lord Stannis?” asked Ser Donnell hesitantly. “What are you orders?”

“Gather all the guards who aren’t watching the castle gates and send them to the docks. Then raise the portcullis and let the ship through. _Now_.”

As the men in front of him scurried off, Stannis made his way to his chambers. He donned a black velvet doublet ( _gods, when did the thing become so large?_ ), strapped on his sword, and threw his cloth-of-gold cloak lined with black fur around his shoulders. If this captain wished to meet the lord—well, acting lord at any rate—of the castle, he might as well look the part.

Before hastening off to the docks himself, Stannis studied one of the onions he had picked up from the floor once the guards had left. The thing was a beautiful shade of white, and its skin was impossibly smooth. He took a deep breath.

The smell was sweeter than a rose would ever be.

~

The captain appeared to be the same age as Stannis himself, or perhaps a few years older. Mid-twenties at the most. His hair and eyes were the same muddy shade of brown, and all of his clothes were made of rough-spun wool without any decorations or embellishments. He wasn’t wearing armor of any sort, and neither the captain nor his small crew seemed to possess any weapons besides some daggers and long knives—weapons not meant to storm a castle.

The captain merely nodded as Stannis asked leave to search to ship, quietly telling his crew to obey any orders the Baratheons gave them. And search the ship Stannis did, with the most trusted knights he had in the castle. He was stunned at what he found.

There were onions. Lots of onions. Bags and bags of onions, so many that Stannis hazarded a guess that the cooks would prepare onion soup for the next month or so. But that was still better then rats and roots and boot leather, or…other kinds of meat that didn’t bear thinking of. In addition to the onions, there were also barrels of salt fish, bags of potatoes, carrots, packages of salted beef, and the odd sack of flour.

“It looks like this ship is our salvation after all,” murmured Stannis as he looked at all the food crammed into the black ship’s hold. There was enough to keep the garrison going for a few months longer, if his calculations were correct. The garrison wouldn’t be feasting, of course, but it wouldn’t be dining on the corpses of Ser Gawen and his accomplices either. Beside him, Ser Donnell had tears streaming down his face, and some of the other knights with him were weeping, not caring that they were grown men in the presence of their lord.

Stannis wondered if his men expected him to weep as well. He grabbed the nearest bag of onions and gestured for his knights to follow him off the ship. _I shed all of my tears the day I watched my parents drown._

With the bag of onions, Stannis approached the captain and asked him to sample the food himself, much like how he had proceeded with Ser Luthor Tyrell. _I don’t care if it takes all night._ The captain shrugged and obliged with an onion from the bag, but as more bags of food were set in front of him, his brown eyes widened as he realized what Stannis had planned.

“Lord Baratheon,” stammered the captain as he took a knee in front of him. “There is no need for me and my crew to eat from every bag of food on my ship.”

“No? Tell me why. You could be Ned Stark for all I care, but even he might sully his honor for the right promise.”

“I swear to you on the Seven, and on the lives of my wife and small sons, that there is no poison in any of the food I have brought you. And if there was, there are more logical ways to go about discovering it. You might find a rotten onion or two, I admit, but that can’t be helped.”

“Are you willing to swear on your life? You might not have a wife and sons, and the Seven have done nothing to stop all the suffering that this war has caused.”

The man seemed taken aback by those words.

“My life is yours, my lord,” he said carefully. “Though I ask you to think things through before you make any rash decisions.”

Stannis stared at him. He wasn’t used to men talking to him in such a forward manner, least of all strangers who knew perfectly well that Stannis was about as far from a lowborn peasant as it was possible to get. _But I can’t be angry at those words, though, for I_ did _warn Robert against doing the same thing before he marched off to war._

“I’m surprised that you haven’t yet asked me who I am, my lord, or introduced yourself. Though I do understand your need to…establish the truth of my claim that my ship is full of food.”

 _Yes, I should get to doing that._ Stannis knew he should have begun this whole business by asking the captain his name. And especially if Robert or one of Robert’s allies had sent him to Storm’s End. However, curiosity got the better of him again.

“How did you get past the Redwyne ships? I thought it was impossible.”

The captain grinned. “Well, the moon is new and the stars are covered by clouds, for a start. As well, it seemed like there would be a storm this evening, so all the ships flying grape banners sought safer waters further from the castle to protect themselves from the rocks in Shipbreaker Bay.”

 _The storm not making landfall turned out to be a boon after all._ Stannis would have laughed at the irony if he remembered how.

“Do I have the honor of speaking with one of Lord Robert Baratheon’s brothers?” continued the captain. “I do not believe you are Lord Robert himself, for he was with his army on the Trident the last I heard.”

 _As if anyone would ever mistake me for Robert._ “I am Stannis Baratheon, lord of Storm’s End while my older brother Robert is away at war. How do you wish to be addressed, Captain…?”

“Davos. You’re welcome to call me ‘Captain’ if you wish, my lord, but it’s just Davos in truth. I serve no lord and have never fought in any battle. This ship is mine own and the crew are good men who have been in my service for many years.”

“Davos…”

The name sounded familiar, and Stannis tried to place where he had come across it before. _Ah yes, the criminal reports…_ Ser Tristimun, King Aerys’ captain of the city naval watch, would periodically send ravens to all the major castles and port cities on the coasts of Westeros detailing criminals to be on the lookout for—and to be hung immediately if caught. Stannis always felt it his duty to read these reports, for there was always the chance that one of the criminals or their ships would sail near Storm’s End.

While the list of criminals would change often enough as the scoundrels were caught, killed, or sent to the Wall, Stannis was willing to bet that the name _Davos_ was on every single one of Ser Tristimun’s reports carefully filed away in the lord’s solar. He recalled some of the things written about the man over the years:

_Notorious smuggler…Spotted at one time or another in every major port, though seems to favor King’s Landing, likely lives there…Those who have seen him say that he has a common face with brown hair and brown eyes…Sails a black ship with black sails, no identifying carvings on the ship or sigils on the sails…Known to work in collusion with pirates from the Free Cities…_

If the gods truly existed, Stannis imagined that they would be laughing at him right now. It wasn’t Robert or one of his illustrious allies who had come to the aid of Storm’s End after all, but a smuggler. And an apparently notorious one, at that! He crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes at the man standing before him.

“I’ve heard of you.”

Davos raised an eyebrow and cocked his head.

“I’m flattered, my lord. I’ve sailed to most every port in Westeros, from the Arbor to the Wall, though I’ve never had a chance to land a ship at Storm’s End.”

Stannis scowled, and ground his teeth.

“That wasn’t mean to be a compliment. You’re one of the most notorious smugglers in the seven kingdoms, and your black ship with black sails has never yet been caught.”

He expected Davos to deny the accusation, or at the very least to act offended at being called a smuggler. Instead, Davos continued to look at him with one eyebrow raised and responded with a hint of amusement in his voice. “Aye, there’s no use in denying that I’m smuggler. You must be acquainted with my friend Ser Tristimun. But if my ship had been caught, I wouldn’t be bringing food to you this evening.”

Stannis decided to ignore that.

“Weren’t you the criminal who stole King Aerys’ _Dragonfire_ only after it had been filled with goods to trade in the Free Cities? The king was so angry about it that he sent ravens to all the castles and holdfasts on the coast, offering a reward for the safe return of the ship and the heads of all those who had stolen it.”

“That wasn’t me. I’ve never stolen a ship before, and I don’t intend to make a habit of it.”

“Are you trying to shirk responsibility, smuggler, in the hopes that I will look upon you more favorably?”

Davos glanced back at his own ship, and Stannis followed the gaze. A group of soldiers wearing black and gold tunics were carrying a barrel of salt fish down to the docks, deliriously happy grins on their faces as they placed it in an ever-growing pile of food. A knight was hugging one of the smuggler’s sailors as if he were a son come back from the dead.

“If I haven’t made a favorable impression upon you now, I’m afraid I never will.”

Stannis’ eyes shifted back to Davos, surprised at how the man was staring right back at him as if they were equals.

Davos bowed his head, realizing that he might have overstepped some invisible line. “I simply have no wish to take credit for deeds that aren’t mine. But in all honesty, I’d never have dared risk the wrath of King Aerys Targaryen. If I have to answer to a man for my crimes, I’d rather take my chances with you.”

“Why is that? You know nothing about me.”

“I know that you’re a son of Lord Steffon Baratheon. A friend once told me that though Lord Steffon ruled his lands with an iron fist, he would always give a man a fair trial and take his good deeds into account with his bad ones. The king, on the other hand, has been burning peasants long before he started burning lords—for matters as simple as telling his grace a truth he didn’t wish to hear.”

Robert’s words suddenly echoed in Stannis’ mind:

_“I’ll make sure Brandon Stark is remembered as a hero for marching down to King’s Landing and telling the king that Prince Rhaegar was a rapist and kidnapper.”_

Stannis had no idea if King Aerys had actually _burned_ Lord Stark and his eldest son alive, but it wouldn’t surprise him—just like it didn’t surprise him that this smuggler knew what the king tended to do with criminals.

“I rather hoped that whichever of Lord Steffon’s sons I met at Storm’s End would take after the former,” continued Davos. “And not renege on his promise that anyone who could bring relief to the starving garrison at Storm’s End would be rewarded.”

_Smart move, to flatter my father. Though that won’t erase any of your past crimes in my eyes._

“Is that why you decided to come to Storm’s End, because you met the men I had sent out to King’s Landing? Who were supposed to spread the word that my brothers and I promise to richly reward any who come to the aid of this castle?”

“I have no idea if I met Baratheon men, for no one will dare wear a stag in King’s Landing if he values his life,” shrugged Davos, eyeing the gold stag brooch that Stannis had used to clasp his cloak. “But the word about that promise is all over the docks and the taverns in Flea Bottom, as well as the fact that the rebel Robert Baratheon’s castle has yet to fall…and that Robert’s brothers have begun to eat the dead rather than surrender the castle.”

“We haven’t yet,” muttered Stannis to himself.

Davos’ eyes brightened for a split second. “I took a risk, yes, but I’ve taken plenty of risks before. And I daresay that I’ll get a higher price for my ship full of food here at Storm’s End than in King’s Landing.”

“You have a bold tongue, smuggler.”

“And you have a blunt and humorless one, my lord. I’m beginning to learn something about you, now. However, you still know nothing about me.”

Stannis scoffed. “Nothing? You’re a smuggler. That’s enough to tell me that you care nothing about flouting the laws of this realm, and that you skulk in the shadows to avoid the justice that you deserve.”

“A man’s vocation and his character are not always one in the same. All the songs make knights paragons of honor and chivalry, but can you tell me with a straight face that all knights are like that? Or that all kings are just and care about the welfare of their people?”

Stannis conceded grudgingly. _That’s what Robert said, before he left with his army._ Westeros wouldn’t be in this war, and Storm’s End wouldn’t be besieged if knights, kings—and princes, especially—were truly the heroes that songs tended to make them.

“So by that logic, is it possible that not all smugglers are dishonorable, deceitful, and care nothing for justice?”

_Ah, so that’s where he’s taking the argument. If there are dishonorable knights, there could certainly be honorable smugglers. Clever. But an honorable smuggler is still a lawbreaking smuggler._

Stannis scoffed again. “What do you want me to say, that you’re an honest smuggler?”

“Only if you think I deserve it. But before you pass judgment on me, as I’m sure you will before you let me leave the castle, just keep what I said in mind. I am not your enemy, my lord.”

“But you’re not my friend either, despite the fact that your onions likely saved my life and the lives of most in this garrison.”

Davos’ eyebrows rose at that, as his mouth opened as if he had an objection that he was ready to shoot back at Stannis. But before the smuggler said a word or lost his temper, he closed his mouth and crossed his arms, staring back at Stannis with a curious expression in his eyes that Stannis couldn’t quite place. The two of them stood there for a while, staring at each other while all the food was being unloaded from the ship in the background. At long last, Davos’ mouth stared to curl up in an amused grin.

“Perhaps not,” Davos replied. “It can take years to form a friendship, and even longer to completely trust someone, am I right? So I’m not insulted by your comment, my lord.”

“I did not insult you. I have no reason to do so, at the moment.”

“You were just telling me the truth. I always respect that, and I hope you do as well.”

“Yes,” replied Stannis slowly, as Davos’ grin turned into a nervous smile. “Yes, I do.”

~

By the way Davos was staring wide-eyed at the inside of Storm’s End, looking with great interest at the tapestries hanging on the walls and at the stonework, Stannis wondered if he had ever been inside a castle before. Storm’s End didn’t have the opulence of the Red Keep, and it was far from the most impressive or breathtaking castle in Westeros. Not that Stannis cared, of course—Storm’s End was his home, and that was all that mattered. Stannis would never admit it to the man, but in that moment Davos’ expression of wonder and amazement was akin to the one Robert and he himself had worn when their father had brought them to the Red Keep for the first time.

The entire castle was in chaos, suddenly all awake in the middle of the night. And everyone seemed ready to accost Stannis to ask what was truly happening, much to his chagrin. In the few hours since the black ship had sailed in with food, the wildest rumors had sprung up, and Stannis heard everything from Robert coming back with Rhaegar Targaryen’s head to the Seven materializing with food. Those rumors would have to be straightened out, of course. The rumor that held the most, truth, however, was the one that there was soon to be a grand feast in Storm’s End’s great hall. _Not a feast, we can’t afford to do that, but a proper meal for once. Without vermin._

Stannis gave orders for rooms to be prepared for Davos and his crew, though he also made sure that guards were assigned to them in case they…well. He might take the smuggler’s word that the food wasn’t poisoned, but he wasn’t willing to extend his trust any further unless given reason to act otherwise. Davos’ crew didn’t seem perturbed by the guards assigned to them—at least until after their captain had some quiet words with them.

Once those matters had been settled, Stannis simply watched Davos.

Davos was remarkably polite and exceedingly kind when he accepted words of thanks from the men and women of the garrison. It didn’t matter to them that he was a smuggler, for food was food whether or not it was brought by a king or the poorest peasant. Some clapped him on the shoulders, the kitchen girls kissed him on his cheeks, and even more—men and women alike—hugged him. Stannis could tell that all the attention was making him very uncomfortable, yet Davos endured it all with a soft smile on his face. For all the boldness that Davos had shown when Stannis had first spoken to him, he imagined that the man would revel in all the attention he was receiving, much like Robert had after his victory at Summerhall. But he didn’t, and that’s what intrigued Stannis most of all.

_This must be what he’s genuinely like, a reserved man by nature, when he’s not trying to prove to lords that there can be honorable smugglers. A far cry from these flashy pirates that I hear about from the Free Cities, who dress in silk and samite and take pride in how many ships they can steal, or from thieves who can’t wait to boast about their latest escapades and growing notoriety. No one, not even me, would have faulted him if he decided to act like Aegon the Conqueror for an evening. The food he brought to us earned him that right._

Stannis thought back to the smuggler’s comment earlier, about knowing nothing and being too quick to judge someone.

_I know something about you now, Davos._

~

“I have given orders for the cooks to start preparing a meal using the food that you have brought. When they are finished, I will have the entire garrison assemble in the great hall for it,” Stannis informed Davos.

“So soon?” Davos wondered.

“It will likely be dawn before everything is fully prepared, but when someone hasn’t eaten well for a very long time…the time of day is inconsequential.” For some reason Stannis couldn’t get the word _starving_ out of his mouth. Now that Davos had seen Storm’s End and many of its people, Stannis wondered if the smuggler had grasped how truly desperate the situation and how badly needed his food was.

“Aye, I know what it’s like to starve, even when there isn’t a war going on. And to see those who you love starve,” answered Davos in a soft voice.

Stannis didn’t know how to reply to that. _Even when there isn’t a war…no, I do not want to think about that._ He shook his head, trying to remember why he began this conversation in the first place.

“During the meal, you’ll sit next to my brother Renly and I at the high table, in the place of honor.”

Not for the first time, Davos looked taken aback at his words. “That’s not necessary, my lord. I would be happy sitting in the back of the hall with my crew.”

“All the people in this garrison think you a right hero and proof that the gods exist. I see no reason to deny them the chance to honor you.”

“They would honor me by eating the food that I have brought.”

“I insist, Davos,” said Stannis through clenched teeth. “Do I have to make it an order?”

“No, my lord. It’s just…I’m simply not used to things like this. Feasts in great castles, talking with lords…”

 _You might not be used to it, but you’re obviously not daunted by the latter._ “It would please me very much. And I would like to get to know you better.”

Davos blinked, and he looked at Stannis curiously. _That didn’t come out right._

“So I can properly pass judgment on you, of course,” Stannis finished stiffly.

“As you wish, Lord Stannis. I hope I don’t disappoint you.”

Before Stannis could reply, Davos hastily bowed and followed a guard to the chamber prepared for him.

~

Maester Cressen led Renly up to Stannis at the high table before the meal was set to begin. The boy had been outfitted much like Stannis in black and gold, and his eyes were shinning with happiness.

“Stannis!” cried Renly as he promptly hugged him around the middle. “Maester Cressen told me everything, and everyone in the castle is awake even though it’s not morning yet! We’re going to have a feast! That’s absolutely wonderful! Does this mean that Robert will be back home soon?”

Stannis awkwardly patted Renly’s head as the boy kept excitedly chattering, not bothering to stop him for once. Eventually, though, he gently pushed Renly from him and put his hands on his shoulders, turning him to face Davos—who had been by his side ever since the cooks had finished preparing the meal.

“Renly, there is someone I would like you to meet. This is Davos, and it is thanks to him that Storm’s End will have a…feast…tonight and for many nights to come.”

Davos gave Renly a short bow, his eyes flickering from Renly to Stannis with a wistful look on his face. _Perhaps he’s thinking of his sons, who must be around Renly’s age._

“It is an honor to meet you, Lord Renly.”

“You’re the pirate who brought us food!” exclaimed Renly. “Everyone’s talking about how the gods must have sent you!”

“The gods did not send him,” said Stannis sharply. “He sailed here with his crew by his own volition. As well, Renly, Davos is not a pirate. He’s a smuggler, there’s a big difference.”

Renly thought about that for a moment, biting his lip and looking Davos up and down.

“My brother must be right, because you don’t look like a pirate.”

“Oh? What is a pirate supposed to look like, little lord?” said Davos, humoring Renly.

“Pirates always wear bright clothing and lots of jewels and gold and silver from the ships that they’ve plundered. Your clothes aren’t any different from what the servants here wear, they’re so plain,” replied Renly. “And pirates have fancy swords, too, and you don’t even have one to begin with! Do you even know how to fight?” he added.

Stannis was ready to scold Renly for equating Davos’ clothes and looks to a servant (for whatever else the smuggler might be, he wasn’t a servant), but before he could open his mouth, the smuggler began to laugh. It had been a long time since Stannis had heard such a sound, especially laughter filled with mirth instead of irony or spite.

“Fancy clothes and swords don’t help a man sail a ship any better, which is why I’m not wearing any now. And a captain maneuvering a ship through Shipbreaker Bay needs just as much skill and as many years of practice as a knight who wants to be a good swordfighter.”

Renly considered this. “My mother and father died in a shipwreck in Shipbreaker Bay, so the captain must not have been as good a captain as you.” He grimaced. “Ow, Stannis, you’re hurting me!”

Stannis’ fingers had involuntarily dug into Renly’s shoulders at the mention of their parents. He didn’t know which disconcerted him more, Renly’s casual mention of the accident, or the look of concern that suddenly passed across the smuggler’s face.

“No more talk of shipwrecks,” ordered Stannis as he lifted Renly onto the bench of the high table. “I want you to think about the feast and _only_ the feast right now, can you do that?”

“Yes Stannis, but….” Renly fell silent at his brother’s glare.

Stannis glanced back toward Davos, who had wisely erased the concerned look from his face.

“Let us begin, shall we?”

At Davos’ nod, Stannis began to address the garrison. The people of Storm’s End patiently sat at long tables that had been moved into the hall for the occasion, listening to Stannis’ explanation of the situation, occasionally calling out a question. The cooks were busily ladling out the same portion of stew to each person, along with handing out loaves of freshly baked bread. From the look and smell of the stew, Stannis guessed that the cooks had certainly made use of the numerous bags of onions, as well as some of the potatoes and salted beef. His mouth began to water, and he forced his attention back to the men and women staring at him.

“I wish to present Davos, who has bravely supplied Storm’s End with enough food to last us for a good time more at great risk to his life. As lord of Storm’s End in my brother Robert’s absence, I command everyone to show Davos and his crew the utmost respect while they remain in the castle.”

Stannis gestured for Davos to stand, which he reluctantly did, staring at all the eyes eagerly looking at him with an expression of wonder.

Whispers began to break out in the hall.

 _We must make an odd pair,_ he mused. Stannis Baratheon, son of Lord Steffon Baratheon of Storm’s End, dressed in all the gold and black finery befitting a man of his station—and Davos the smuggler, with his common face, plain clothes, and a salt-stained cloak that was ragged at the edges. _Perhaps Davos would rather be alone on his ship, watching the sea in silence._

But then those whispers turned into cheers and shouts.

Stannis raised his goblet, which was full of the Arbor gold haughtily delivered by Ser Luthor all that time ago. The irony of the garrison drinking Arbor gold gave him some small satisfaction...if only he could let Lord Redwyne know that his _generous_ gift was being drunk in celebration instead of being used to drown sorrows. Maester Cressen had questioned Stannis if it was wise to drink such rich wine, but Stannis countered that Robert would have done the same, everything be damned. If Robert had been here, he would have gotten raucously drunk on the wine, but Stannis couldn’t afford to lose his composure like that. Still, though, downing a glass or two would be enough for him to spite Redwyne.

“To the hero of the evening! And let us hope that this siege will be lifted soon, so Davos’ efforts will not have been in vain.”

He had said the smuggler’s name in a rather soft voice, but everyone in the hall was able to hear it. An army of glasses was raised to toast Davos, and the shouts that followed wouldn’t have sounded out of place on a battlefield. There was joy in the shouts, and tears of joy as well.

“Davos! Davos! DAVOS!”

The sun was rising.

Stannis gazed intently around the hall once more and then turned back once again to the smuggler standing on his right. When Davos became aware of Stannis’ eyes on him, he gave Stannis a genuine, warmhearted smile.

_What is this feeling that makes men laugh and give them the courage to face another day?_

The answer to the question came to him without warning, and Stannis was surprised that he still remembered it.

_That feeling? I know its name: hope._

And Stannis couldn’t help but smile back.

END

**Author's Note:**

> Lifehouse’s “Storm” is a beautiful ballad/prayer/lullaby. While technically a love song, it’s ambiguous about whether it refers to romantic, reverent, or platonic love. I felt that all the storm/water imagery relates to Stannis during the siege, though I don’t know if he’s ever been as hopeful as the song is at the end. [Here](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=R_jSSVJwGek) is a link to the song. (I also came across a [techno remix](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iPbKZo_J1jg) of the song that was too good not to share.)


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